


Impact

by SuperAnarchy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alien Sex, Alien!Bucky, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Artist!Steve, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11379711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperAnarchy/pseuds/SuperAnarchy
Summary: Out of all the things that could have happened to Steve living in these woods, running towards a spaceship wouldn’t have been his first bet. Maybe running from a serial killer, or welcoming a crazy hitchhiker into his house… but running towards a spaceship? Never in his wildest dreams.





	Impact

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, a huge thank you to the mods for setting it up, you guys are awesome! I hope there'll be more editions in the future.
> 
> You can find Erika's artworks [right here](http://eyesoffelina.tumblr.com/post/162524506799/impact-for-the-capreversebb-read-the-story-by), or at the end of the fic. You can also find her on tumblr as [eyesoffelina](http://eyesoffelina.tumblr.com/) (she's truly talented so you should definitely check it out) and on [Patreon here](https://www.patreon.com/eyesoffelina%20).

* * *

It’s dusk when Steve awakes from a short nap.

His back and shoulders are sore from sleeping on a chair. His hand is still holding a pencil and his unfinished and uncooperative drawing –whose deadline couldn’t come any faster– is staring at him as if offended to be such an issue. Steve is not good with commissions, what can he say? _Sorry, it’s not you, it’s me?_ But he needs money and that poor artwork needs colors and shapes and love, and Steve is unable to provide any of those at the moment.

Steve must have fallen asleep with his mouth open because it’s dry with a funny taste. His eyelids are heavy and Steve feels tired, drained out by this inescapable leech of life called _ugh_ , responsibilities. Not even a hundred-year long nap would help him recover – you can’t get any rest when it’s not your body that is tired, but Steve has gotten used to it.

Feeling guilty and stared at, Steve peeks at the clock. It’s not that late, only the early autumn impression of running out of time when a few months ago he would have thought the evening had not yet started. Darkness is a trickster, but what a beautiful one.

Autumn is Steve’s favorite season, between the colors and the smells… Everything disappears, changes, hides, takes a break from existing only to come back in full vigor in a few months, at the first heat or beams of sunshine. Steve wishes he could hibernate as well, but another glance at his commission makes him wince. Is it too late to become a bear? Hide away for a few months?

Disgusted by the taste in his mouth, Steve sluggishly walks to the sink to fill a glass of water when a bright flash of light invades the room. It’s quick, less than a second, but it’s so intense Steve has to close his eyes.

At first Steve thinks nothing of it, either too tired to react, not sure he’s seen what he’s seen, or maybe the idea of a lightning bolt crosses his mind. Another storm doesn’t sound like such a bad thing, storms are soothing after all, but then it happens again: a bright, strong, white light invades the room. This time Steve does look out of the window. 

Steve notices the lack of thunder, the lack of deafening rain; the sky is pristine clear, not the slightest cloud in sight. The light has not disappeared however, it has weakened and bundled up farther away in the sky. It’s moving fast, like it is flying away – or _no_ , it looks like it’s falling down. 

_Is that a meteorite_? Steve wonders briefly, but that can’t be it either, there’s no trail behind it.

It’s been years now since Steve left the hub that is New York City and traded his loft for a cosy little cabin in the woods. Over hurried workmen and inattentive tourists, Steve chose the company of bobcats. Even the melodically annoying honking of impatient drivers can’t compete with the chirping of birds at sunrise. 

Steve does not live in a mansion, but he has all the comfort he needs, here, in complete quietness, and believe him, that’s all he’s ever wished for, whether upon stars or before blowing birthday candles: _quietness_. But something tells Steve quietness isn’t a word for tonight for there’s a huge unidentified spherical object right outside his house, looking like it’s ready to crash any second.

One thing is sure: it’s not a plane. Steve has spent too much time in his life staring at planes to be absolutely certain of that. It’s a bright white light in a round shape and that’s all Steve is able to tell so far. Nature is amazingly talented for unusual creations so Steve can’t cross lightning and meteorites off the list just yet. 

But _what else could this possibly be_?

That’s when Steve hears a thud followed by a series of duller sounds, close, resonating through the house walls. Steve grabs a jacket and rushes outside, into the woods. Between moping over his commission and going on an adventure, Steve doesn’t need to think to make a choice: there’ll be time for quietness tomorrow.

Steve ventures deep into the forest, a kid’s smile upon his lips and his gaze set on that bundle of light in the sky. It’s so intense it’s blinding him, so intense it puts the moon to shame, but Steve is stubborn and keeps staring as he tries to avoid tripping on roots and getting hit by branches. His nostrils are rapidly invaded by the damp-smelling air, his hair gets wet from raindrops falling from the leaves they settled on earlier in the day. 

It’s easy to get lost in that forest, but Steve knows his way. He’s wandered around many times before, in daylight and under the moonlight, through the rain and the mud and through the suffocating heat of a harsh summer. He knows the area and every step he takes leads him to a part of the woods he tends to avoid. Not intentionally, just... _something_. Something telling him to stay away, _something_ pushing him back into other places. Just a feeling, but a strong one.

Steve walks forward, his eyes set on that unidentified object in the darkening sky, the palms of his hands seeking balance against old and wet trees; it has rained all day long and the rainstorm hasn’t just nourished the flowers, but turned the ground into a muddy skating rink. 

Steve’s neck hurts from staring up at the sky. The light is blinding him, like a small sun in the middle of the night sky, but Steve can’t bring himself to look away, too afraid to let it disappear in a blink. Steve finds himself walking faster as the orb seems to move faster as well. Suddenly it shifts, the ball of light becomes a triangle and Steve’s mouth falls open. The idea shapes in his mind, flourishing quickly; not lightning, not a meteorite. No, much better than that.

It doesn’t matter how much he trips and falls, Steve gets back up and ends up running towards his goal. That’s when a deafening noise spreads; the orb settles in the sky for a second or two and Steve’s heart trips too at the idea it might disappear before he can reach it. 

It shifts again, back to a ball and Steve hurries and runs, as if his life depended on it. Or his fate, maybe. 

_Wait for me._

_Wait for me,_ Steve thinks staring at the spaceship hovering over the trees. Yes, a spaceship. That’s the only thing it can be, the only thing that matches what he’s seeing. 

Steve’s close enough to see it clearly now, it’s not just big, it’s _huge_. It’s spinning, spinning, spinning, and toying with Steve’s hope. It has stopped moving and Steve dares to think, _wait._ He’s only a few steps away. Just wait.

 _“Wait,”_ Steve actually says under his breath, no longer feeling his feet hitting the ground, _wait for me._

 _Pick me_ ; the thought follows right after. 

Steve has never had an awful life, nothing he’s ever felt the need to complain about. Sure he lost his father before he could make memories of him and his mom died way too soon, but he could have had it worse. Steve has never considered his life to be awful, but if he could trade it for the unknown… Tonight, right at this instant, Steve would.

He'd trade his life for a try at a new one. For a chance to _know_ what most people only make theories about. Speculations. Doubts. Want. Steve has it all right there, in front of him. A real spaceship. Because that’s what it is to him, a spaceship, an invitation to the unknown.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. Steve mentally pinches himself, but with an overflowing imagination like his, he wants to make sure he’s not dreaming it, that he’s not still sitting on his kitchen chair, sound asleep, wanting to escape his reality.

There’s a spaceship in front of him, almost in his backyard.

Steve is not dreaming it. A _damn spaceship._ With most likely aliens in it. With _life_ aboard. Another kind of life, another species, a whole new world. 

Steve’s out of breath when he finds himself underneath that gigantic spaceship, the light too dazzling to even think of staring up at it, but Steve tries to anyway, his arm up to shield his eyes. 

It’s silent all around, the spaceship doesn’t seem to make a sound anymore, doesn't seem to generate any gush of air either. Animals are hiding, only the wind dares to break the silence, howling low. It feels surreal, the ship is floating in the sky. It’s just there, photoshopped into reality.

And Steve is there too, his eyes half-closed and his neck stretched up, _please._

_Please._

_Pick me._

Out of all the things that could have happened to Steve living in these woods, running towards a spaceship wouldn’t have been his first bet. Maybe running from a serial killer, or welcoming a crazy hitchhiker into his house… but running towards a spaceship? Never in his wildest dreams.

It's not that Steve never thought or daydreamed about it, but he’s just not that lucky. He’s the kind of guy with enough luck to end up in the local newspaper in the obituary section after having been killed by a falling piano. He’s the kind of guy with _that kind_ of luck, you know, _bad_ luck _._

That’s one of the reasons he moved upstate. As a bad luck magnet, there is more to attract in a city full of people with an increasing daily rate of criminality, than among squirrels and butterflies. And there’s something about living in the woods, Steve isn’t quite sure what it is – it’s in the air; the smell of wet leaves, of grass, the sound of animals living in their natural environment, it’s the unhurried pace of everything as if time holds no constraints over nature, only there as a simple friend, as a reminder, a guide.

But he’s not going to lie, the idea of being kidnapped does sound sweeter to Steve than coming back to this commission he’s never going to see the end of. Better than coming back to bills to pay and people to avoid, than coming back to his little routine…

A loud sound next to Steve almost makes him look away, but it takes another second and a louder one to make Steve reluctantly abandon the spaceship to scan all around. There’s nothing, Steve sees nothing but trees hidden in the darkness of the night and leaves dancing with the wind. A third and blaring noise makes Steve’s heart accelerate and makes him look harder. 

There’s something he can’t yet spot.

It seems to come from behind a tree and a few steps in that direction bring Steve to what he had not seen at first. Not a tree, but a box. Like a pod, and glass on the ground. At second glance Steve notices something – someone underneath the box. He hurries to offer help, but freezes when half of the creature’s face is lit by the spaceship’s lights. It looks _almost_ human, aside from the eyes that catch Steve's attention. Big. Without pupils, without iris, completely blank and yet Steve feels stared at, sweat beginning to pearl at the back of his neck.

Whatever creature Steve is looking at is laying there, in silent pain, his mouth twitching and his expression threatening. Steve feels torn between fear and adrenaline, he looks back at the pod and tries to lift it. The alien squirms back, terrified and terrifying. Steve freezes, his entire body contracting.

“I just want to help!” he says a little too fast, too loud, too stressed out. 

Steve takes a deep breath, holding his hands up before he repeats more calmly, _“I just want to help_ ,” but his quivering voice betrays his fear. His heart is going to beat itself out of his chest.

The creature is grimacing in pain, as if it was a universal emotion. It seems to be staring. Steve can't tell for sure as irisless eyes are hard to decipher, but it feels like someone has dipped ice down his neck and that’s about the same sensation. 

The extraterrestrial being lets out a muffled groan; Steve swallows, his heart racing again. 

Steve has no idea what happens once he frees it, but he can’t _not_ help. It’s obvious that it’s hurting, agonizing in silence, and Steve is only praying it looks so terrifying just because _it_ is so terrified and in terrible pain. He’s watched and read too many science fiction not to think this could end badly. 

_What could possibly go wrong when you free an extraterrestrial being, right?_ A hundred scenarios go through Steve's brain as he holds his breath, but he just can’t _not_ help. It looks like it’s agonizing.

Steve attempts to lift the heavy box again while the creature finally ceases to move, those big eyes set in his direction. Steve bites his lower lip as he holds the pod at knee level, his feet solid on the muddy ground and his arms trembling from the strength required for a simple pod. Just how heavy is this thing?

Before Steve has had the time to put it back onto the ground and to turn around, the creature is already on its feet, putting distance between them. That's when the lights go out. Steve looks up – the spaceship has disappeared. Gone. Vanished. Fuck _._

_Fuck._

_No,_ Steve thinks, _wait._ Wait for me, he’d say, but Steve looks back at the alien, two glowing eyes still looking into his direction. He’s wary, at a good and safe distance. _Don’t leave him here_ , Steve finds himself thinking instead. _You’re forgetting one of your own!_

Do they know? Have they noticed?

They can’t not know, how could they not, the sound it made crashing, they must have heard it. The alien takes a step back, its head tilting to the side before it looks up at the sky. It’s as tall as Steve, the hair darker and longer than his, too. There are two small and slightly pink bumps glowing on its forehead as well, but what catches Steve’s attention is the dazzling golden lines drawn on the back of its hand. It’s entrancing, Steve feels captivated by it, almost inexplicably.

Steve eventually looks back up at its face; he’s being watched too, so Steve stays there, unmoving and stared at to avoid any complicated situation. His heart is hammering inside his chest, but Steve tries to steady his breathing first. Steve acts as he would facing any other animal; he remains calm, no rapid gestures. Not that this is an animal, not that Steve can judge of that, but when facing something new and seemingly wild, you don’t want to scare, startle or threaten it. That saved Steve’s life once.

“It's okay,” Steve says softly, feeling a bit dizzy now. “I'm not gonna hurt you,” he continues, hoping he’s not going to get hurt either, hoping it understands at least part of what he’s saying.

Steve is torn apart inside. Fear feels like a beast with claws shredding everything inside him into pieces, and a sweet, ethereal voice that sounds like his conscious whispers in his ear to stay, to watch, and maybe to help – or is it curiosity?

Steve is not a man of fear. Ignoring the pain in his chest from a thundering heart and his stomach tightening in terror, he takes a step towards that alien who takes a step back in response. 

The alien – because it is what it is – turns its face towards some trees abruptly. Steve looks to his right to try and see what's caught its attention; nothing. When Steve looks back at the extraterrestrial creature, it's gone. Steve spins, looking everywhere in sight, but without any success. It was barely longer than a blink – _how?_

How did it just disappear so fast? In complete and utter silence?

The box is still there though, and Steve comes closer to take a better look at it. It's broken, probably irreparable, there's glass scattered on the ground, probably from the crash. There’s something engraved at the bottom, like words impossible to read, or is it shapes? The box is big enough to fit one person, but without much space for it to live in. What was it doing in there? Sleeping?

Steve's body hair rises and the feeling of being watched intently creeps over him; as he looks up slowly, he sees the creature behind him and those same two eyes looking into his direction.

Steve's heart jumps in his chest as he falls backwards. He reflexively crawls back farther while the creature keeps staring, standing tall above him. Steve scans it from head to toe; it looks human in shape. The same silhouette. Two arms, two legs and a head on top of it. Steve lingers on the torn and ripped shirt stained with dirt. It bears the same inscription than the one found on the box, Steve frowns. It looks like two words, or maybe one to Steve. It's similar to human letters in forms. Steve tries to take a better look at it as the alien boy keeps walking towards him. Steve narrows his eyes. 

As he tries to decrypt and read, it escapes his lips “Bu… Bucky?” Steve says. “Is that your name?” he asks looking up. “Bucky?”

The creature frowns a bit in response to the words and Steve hopes he didn’t just insult or offend it. Steve grasps at the dirt and grass in his hands when he notices the previously rosy bumps on its forehead have lightened out.

“On your shirt,” Steve asks again, his voice trembling more than he’d wish, “is it what it says? _Bucky_?”

The alien doesn’t answer, but stops moving. It lowers its face, as if it is taking a look at the shirt.

“Bucky,” Steve repeats, to see what reaction he’ll get this time before he swallows. His breath is still uneven, small clouds forming in the cold autumn air as he exhales. He’s starting to lose sensation in his fingers buried in the ground. The alien slightly tilts its head to its right side this time.

Bucky, Steve decides, is much better than _Alien boy_ and ten times less scary. Bucky turns his face around again. Steve gets up slowly, trying his best to look unthreatening as Bucky's eyes set on him once more.

Is he as scary to Bucky as Bucky is to him? Not just foreign, but scary. It’s truly fear that Steve has inside him, it’s fear he’s overcoming, forcing himself to move every muscle, to breathe calmly and steadily when a big part of him is willing to run in the opposite direction because it might look human in shape, but it is exuding power and threat. Those giant eyes impossible to read, those two bumps on its forehead darkening, the strands of black hair falling down its face.

Steve’s eyes fall down to Bucky’s hand and those golden lines, that’s when Bucky approaches Steve. One careful step at a time, coming closer and closer. Steve holds his breath as he takes a better look at him. 

Bucky is only inches away from Steve’s face when Steve notices his eyes doing something crazy. A thick, transparent membrane wraps over each eye just like…. Just like crocodiles. Steve’s heart skips another beat. It retracts as Steve slowly melts into a puddle of sweat and fear. He’s really close, really, _really_ close. Bucky breathes; Steve feels the air it exhales hit his face. Its species must not be too different that him if they breathe, too. Bucky must have lungs, right? Why else would he be breathing for?

Steve swallows and blinks and again and in just that one second, that one blink, the creature vanishes without a sound.

Panic slowly takes over fear and Steve decides to hurry back home. Every noise along the way makes his breaths shallower, his steps faster. It’s a good thing Steve knows the area because frightened as he is, trees all look the same and stars are no help.

Steve checks behind him to see if he’s being followed, but when he looks back ahead of him, Bucky has reappeared next to an old and massive tree. Steve stops, feeling cold to the bone. Going out in the woods was a bad idea, he’s going to wind up dead, killed by an alien. 

_Oh boy, what a great obituary would that make_ – or an amazing epitaph: Here lies Steve Rogers, _he thought he could befriend an alien._

Bucky slowly approaches while Steve is unable to get some survival instinct to kick in, he stays standing, watching. Bucky has something in his hand and Steve swallows as he realises what it is: a dead rat or well, a _dying_ rat. He breathes in relief when Bucky stretches his hand towards him, as if offering it. Steve’s stomach tightens however, the bitter taste of puke coming up his throat.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, trying keep his calm. “I’m not hungry,” he adds before nodding to Bucky, gesturing that he can eat it if he wants. As a reflex Steve holds his breath and looks at Bucky with a smile to hide his disgust.

Bucky looks down, seemingly disappointed. He puts the rat to his mouth and bites into it; Steve winces, the bitter taste settling down his throat as a warning. Bucky tears a leg apart and that’s too much for Steve’s stomach, he looks away and starts walking again but stops against a tree, his stomach on the verge of throwing up. He puts one hand before his mouth while the other move to his belly while his mind finds it funny to replay what he’s just witnessed in perfect, graphic detail. 

Bucky follows him, but stays at a reasonable distance, he’s frowning adorably, like a concerned puppy, but he’s got blood on his chin and ripped open rat in one hand. Steve takes a deep, deep breath, closing his eyes for a couple seconds before he starts walking again. 

Steve doesn't try to wait for Bucky to catch up because every time he turns around Bucky stops walking. For most of the way, that's how it goes, like a game, until Steve turns around to check and Bucky's not there anymore.

“Bucky?” he asks. _Fuck._ “Bucky?!” he shouts again, as if it had been agreed on that Bucky would follow him home.

Steve pulls his phone out to take a better look using the flashlight. It takes about a minute, sixty long seconds of panicked breaths and hammering heart before Bucky moves in sight again, eyes glowing in the dark like an animal.

Steve narrows his eyes to see better in the darkness of the woods; Bucky has something in his mouth again and it doesn’t look like the same rat. Steve’s stomach quivers when he realises it's bigger although he's too far to tell exactly what it is. Probably an opossum. Half of Steve wants to throw up at the view, the other half feels sad. The poor thing must be starving. How long has it been since he’s last eaten anything?

Steve stands staring again, but realising that Bucky will not step closer until he starts walking, Steve heads for his house nearby. The night has settled for good, it’s hard to see anything now.

When Steve reaches home, Bucky is still following at a safe distance. Steve lets the door open behind him, hoping Bucky will be bold enough to step inside. At his surprise, Bucky does. One step in and he sticks himself to the wall, eyes set in Steve’s direction. Steve turns the light on and Bucky's eyelids wrap around his eyes again. It's a fascinating thing to witness. But as the light seems to bother Bucky, Steve turns it off and turns on the little lamp on furniture item a few steps away instead, the one he usually uses to sketch when he can’t sleep.

“So you eat anything else than living animals?” Steve asks, aware of the sarcasm in his tone.

Bucky ignores him and looks all around instead. Something catches his eye, the clock on the furniture. Bucky hurries to it, watching it swing left and right, left and right, left and right. Steve can only stare, as fascinated by Bucky, wondering if Bucky knows about time? Is that a concept that exists from where he’s from? Or do clocks represent something else? 

Bucky seems so absorbed by it Steve glances at it, too: it’s way, way past midnight. How did time fly so fast? 

Steve is standing there, in the middle of the living-room when Bucky approaches calmly. One step after one step, until he’s close to Steve, but this time he’s not looking _at_ Steve, it seems like he’s looking _through_ him, and around him. Bucky lifts his hand and leaves it hanging above Steve’s shoulder. He’s not even brushing the material of his shirt, he’s ghosting above it, feeling something, but what?

Steve holds his breath and lets Bucky do whatever he’s doing. Bucky might be testing him, probably through ways Steve can’t understand. Bucky’s hand move higher up, next to Steve’s throat now. Steve’s eyebrows come together as Bucky breathes out softly, his fingers playing air like Steve plays the keys of a piano. 

Bucky’s hand moves lower, above Steve’s chest, stopping on top of his heart. Bucky’s eyes close for only a little longer than a normal blink before his hand drops and he walks away, now standing near the couch and staring at the tv Steve has left mutedly on all day long. 

Steve feels unable to move for a few seconds; he has no idea what just happened, but he feels… lighter. Steve glances in Bucky’s direction, Bucky who seems to find the tv all kinds of funny and interesting. Bucky walks closer and closer, as close as one can be to the screen and then moves back, turning around. Steve notices what looks like blood on Bucky’s shirt.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asks, taking a step forward. Bucky immediately moves backwards, back against the tv, and Steve throws his hands up again, trying to show he’s not a threat. “I only want to take a look, maybe I can help.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to want any help, not even a touch. His jaw clenches, the two little bumps on his forehead light up.

“Fine, alright,” Steve answers, “maybe I can just give you something to clean you up? To avoid infection,” Steve adds, but Bucky steps back, letting out a loud noisy breath. 

“Can I at least give you new clothes?” Steve asks, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Just wait here, alright? Please?”

Steve doesn’t turn his back to Bucky and walks to the bedroom backwards. He hurries to gather what he wants – the first t-shirt and pair of jeans he sees – and comes back hoping Bucky hasn’t disappeared again. 

“Here,” Steve says, putting the folded pile of clothes on the edge of the table so Bucky doesn’t have to approach him if he doesn’t want to, and then carefully steps back. He ignores Bucky for a minute or two, leaving him some time without Steve’s curious gaze on him.

Steve’s abandoned glass of water is by the sink and by the time Steve drinks it up and turns around, Bucky’s in front of him. Bucky’s eyes shift to Steve and he’s close enough that Steve can distinctly see how different they are from his. He has human eyelids, but also a thick almost transparent membrane in the corner of his eye as well that’d give him a predatory look if it weren’t for the sadness Steve discerns in them. Strands of hair are falling into his face, catching into dark lashes. Bucky does have an attractive face according to Human standards, or according to Steve’s taste in men at least.

Bucky’s skin is a shade of salmon, almost human but seems to reflect the moonlight coming through the window. The two little bumps on his forehead, one under the other, are now pretty much the same shade, just a little more glowy than the rest of his skin.

Bucky’s head tilts to the side and Steve mirrors him without thinking. It’s only when his lungs start hurting that Steve realises he’s been holding his breath and lost himself into Bucky’s presence.

Steve sweeps over Bucky’s outfit then, realising that the fabric is close to what he’s wearing himself. It looks like a sort of cotton, only denser. Bucky’s white shirt is covered of dirt and a light pinkish stain – what Steve thought was blood, what probably is blood. 

When Steve looks up, he realises that Bucky hasn’t stopped staring at him. There’s blood on Bucky’s chin, Steve’s stomach quivers again at the memory of Bucky biting into animals he found into the woods. It hasn’t completely dried yet, and the red is still strong. Steve moves to the sink, grabs a towel that he wets and hands to Bucky who still stares expressionless and unmoving. Steve insists gently, stretching his hand more into Bucky’s direction, but Bucky doesn’t grab it. 

“Okay,” Steve whispers to himself, putting the towel back onto the counter. “Take the clothes,” Steve says again with a soft smile, nodding in the pile’s direction. “They’re for you.”

Bucky seems to hesitate, but quickly starts pulling off his shirt and oh – _okay_. Steve sees that golden line above his hip, following the sharp bone. Steve turns around to look away and give Bucky some privacy, though the alien doesn’t seem to care about privacy at all, but a moment later Steve’s gaze is drawn back to Bucky. 

There are more golden lines on his body, one near where a human heart would be, another along the right side of his ribs that almost joins the one on his hipbone, one winding around his left arm; he's an art piece all by himself. What quickly catches Steve's eye is the absence of a belly button and the immediate thought that Bucky and the others were not conceived like humans. 

They might not be so alike after all.

Bucky grips at the seam of his pants; Steve immediately turns back around, cheeks flushing red. He laughs a little, half-uncomfortable, half-amused; looks like privacy does not exist up there, wherever _there_ is.

Steve takes a long time before he turns around again. Bucky’s being silent, so Steve eventually does, but finds nobody in front of him. 

Bucky is gone. 

Steve’s heart misses a beat, he scans the room, looks all over the house; the living-room, the bathroom, the bedroom… Inside his bedroom and by the window, Steve finally sees Bucky standing outside, looking up at the sky.

Steve’s heart slows down, he stays watching him for a minute before he decides to join him, approaching calmly and yet loudly enough not to startle Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t pay him the slightest attention and starts walking back into the woods. Steve follows him instinctively; he doesn't know where Bucky is going, but they're going together. Again, the idea that Steve could protect Bucky makes him laugh. As if Bucky seemed to need any help from him. 

There's something utterly fascinating about Bucky, the way he walks in complete silence, the way he gazes at everything around in wonder. Steve doesn't realise how much time he spends just looking at him exploring the area.

It soon becomes obvious where Bucky's heading to, Steve recognizes the path he's taken earlier. It takes them a few minutes where Steve remains silent to reach the place of the accident. Bucky has a good memory, or a good instinct to have found his way back. 

Bucky observes around silently for a while, almost solemn. He looks up and down, all around. He walks up to the broken pod and the glass shattered on the ground. Steve stands back, looking both at Bucky and at the sky where, just a few hours ago, was a spaceship.

Right there, _above his head._

It hits Steve then; Bucky is from _another planet._ He's from outer space _._ Chances are, he has no idea where he is, what Earth is. Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn’t, but either way he’s alone here. Steve hasn’t found a way to communicate with him – not that he’s had much time to do so – and Bucky doesn’t seem to trust Steve yet, at best he’s unbothered by his presence, but there's no way for Steve to know what he really think, what he knows or understands. 

All Bucky knows is gone, nothing must be familiar here – but for that broken pod. It must be overwhelming, all that new information to take in. This world already moves too fast for Steve – and he’s always lived in it.

Steve has both feet on a ground he’s walked his whole life, looking at stars he’s marveled at since his youngest years. Gravity is the same here and in New York City, the world spins the same as it always has. Steve is home in those woods, he’s home in this country, he’s home on this planet.

Bucky takes a step back and sits on a stump nearby.

Steve hesitates at first, but ends up joining him. Although Bucky is always silent, this time it feels heavy being around him, as though his sadness is suffocating. He’s looking ahead of him, and Steve doesn’t know what to do or say.

"Do you think they'll come looking for you?" he asks.

Bucky answers in his own way; his gaze lowers slowly and he seems to ponder for a long minute, leaving Steve to drown in this helpless silence. Somehow, Bucky has understood, and Bucky knows the answer.

Steve’s heart breaks a little as he lowers his gaze, too. As always when it’s silent, as always when Steve is awake at night, outside in the woods, his brain becomes louder than the world surrounding him. Only this time, Steve doesn’t repaint his whole world, he doesn’t fix the past and make up a future, this time Steve looks up at Bucky and a deafening gust of questions carries him away.

 _Who are you_? Steve thinks. _What's your story_? He knows nothing about Bucky aside from the fact he eats rodents.

Are you a hero? A leader? One of the bad guys? You can’t be a nobody, you were in a spaceship. 

Steve lets his imagination wander as he stares at his new friend; maybe a King, or a convict. Young or old... what if you’re really a hundred years old, what if only ten? What if you have no concept of age? Could there be a species up there that doesn’t age?

Bucky’s standing still, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

Do you have a family? Do you belong somewhere? Will anyone miss you?

Were you left here on purpose?

Where do you live? What planet do you come from? Steve's unable to stop the flow of questions he knows he might never get answers to. Does Bucky wonder about him to? Is he curious about Steve? Clearly, he has some answers already, but is Steve as big a curiosity to him as Bucky is to Steve?

Steve observes him intently in silence. Bucky's quiet and it's not only sadness Steve reads on his face, a bit of numbness, too. As if Bucky knows his fate is sealed already. His gaze leaves the sky to slowly fall down to the ground; he knows he's never going back home.

His look answers Steve's question. Nobody will come. Bucky might as well be dead. Steve's heart shatters and he stays sitting next to him until the sun begins to rise.

A new day for a new life.

Bucky looks up, captivated by every shade of color, red and yellow and orange dissolving into a beautiful canvas. Steve observes him squinting at the sun before he looks away. Bucky stands up, his eyes still up to the sky.

Steve finds himself smiling softly, making a mental image of that moment to paint it later. Bucky climbs on the cut tree Steve is sitting on, his neck stretched up outlining the sharpness of his jaw.

It takes Bucky a minute or two before he acknowledges Steve's presence again, looking down at him, and it's only for a handful of seconds before his attention is caught by the palette of colors stretching into the sky again.

Steve's smile must be contagious because for the first time Bucky's lips betray a hint of happiness, of amazement. His mouth opens slightly, his lips stretch into a smile. From where he is, Steve can see his sharp jaw and his strong neck, his long black hair falling down his neck. But really, Bucky’s smile is the most eye-catching thing about the scenery. It seems honest, pure.

Well, Steve thinks, there must be worse planets to get stranded on.

Steve gets up in turn and instantly has Bucky's attention, as if he was always wary, on the lookout. Bucky turns back around, facing the sun this time and the light must be too strong because he can barely keep his eyes open, even with that thick membrane covering them. Bucky turns around, back to the rising sun when a butterfly flies by, finding interest in Steve’s little alien.

Bucky watches it, beyond captivated, his lips parting slightly. Tentatively, Bucky raises his hand up and seems startled when the butterfly lands on his hand.

Steve smiles wider as he watches Bucky, head only slightly tilted to the side, staring at the little creature perched on his hand. Bucky’s frowning in the cutest way, seemingly afraid of moving and scaring the little one away. Maybe afraid he could hurt it, too. 

Steve has seen many of those butterflies before, but watching Bucky looking at one of them gives it a fresh new kind of beauty. They’re both unmoving, as if staring back at an equally unusual creature. Bucky lifts his other hand in a soft and graceful gesture and the butterfly doesn’t move one inch, doesn’t try to escape. It almost looks like they’re part of the same entity; the pretty little butterfly and the pretty little alien. 

Steve stands there, observing discreetly, marveling at both the scenery and Bucky's amazement, but the butterfly eventually flies away, leaving Bucky to watch as it leaves. Steve watches too, and when his eyes fall back onto Bucky, that’s only to see Bucky's big eyes are set in his direction.

“Made a new friend, huh?” Steve softly says.

Bucky loses his smile and seems to close down again, he glances to his right where the butterfly flew.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers.

Bucky stares at him again. There’s something oddly disturbing when someone stares at you without blinking, without owning pupils.

“We should probably go,” Steve says, “you don’t want to risk people seeing you here. You can stay at my place, if you want.”

Where else would Bucky go? Steve doesn’t want to begin to think about what would happen to him if someone else was to find him here. Humans; _humans_ are capable of such cruelty. Bucky doesn’t deserve any of what Steve’s species can do. Steve can’t hide an alien forever, but he can try to figure out a solution. Steve has tricks up his sleeve. He hasn’t always been a secluded artist, he’s a resourceful and smart man and somehow he feels he owes it to Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes narrow, whether because of the sun peeking out or because he understands, or both, but his eyes narrow and he walks down the stump and stands in front of Steve.

What is Bucky to Steve? It’s too early to call him a friend, isn’t it? Even if, deep in his guts, Steve feels that way? Because he sure feels that way, there’s something about Bucky that makes him smile at a glance. There’s chemistry, a connection, there’s communication without words, that must mean something.

That _must_ mean something.

And if it means anything at all, then Steve will try and protect Bucky from what Humans can do.

 

 

* * *

 

_A few days later…_

Steve's evening starts like any of his usual evenings; by drinking coffee and staring at an uncooperative, half-finished drawing whose deadline couldn't come any faster. It doesn't speak to him, it _refuses_ to come to life, the ungrateful piece of paper. But this time, Steve can pinpoint exactly what’s causing his lack of motivation: there’s an alien living in his house and that’s much more interesting.

Steve has gotten used to him – and to have dead rats around the house, sometimes even on his pillow. He’s gotten used to feeling a presence behind or above him when he sleeps, too, because it turns out Bucky doesn’t need to sleep, his brain must work like dolphins’. Steve has learnt that Bucky doesn’t seem to speak either, but rare and muffled noises may escape him at times.

Bucky’s also adjusted to his new surroundings and life at an astonishingly short time.

Steve has also learnt a few things about how Bucky works, strong emotions make the bumps on his forehead light up in a vivid pink color. He bears countless golden lines on his body, and he has his very own way to make Steve feel stared at and to make him blush.

That’s exactly what happens that night, Bucky is staring at Steve and, being the great host he is, Steve pays him more attention than he does his artwork.

“Are you hungry?” Steve asks, getting up. He gets no answer. He never gets any answer, but Steve still asks questions. Most of the time Bucky seems to understand part of what Steve is trying to say, and Steve likes to talk to Bucky. “Thirsty?”

This time Bucky takes a step closer, tilting his head slightly before he surprises Steve with a kiss. It's sweet, so sweet and yet strong. Steve lets go of any walls, they have been crumbling for days now anyway. They don’t do that, usually. They’ve gotten close, but not that close. Bucky has never done that before, Steve has thought of doing it, but never would’ve acted on those feelings if Bucky had not initiated the whole thing. Bucky’s not from this planet. Bucky has other customs, ways of life, of love. 

Is Steve's skin as scorching hot to Bucky as Bucky's is freezing to Steve? Steve doesn't know, probably never will, but it is real, this kiss is real, Bucky initiated it. That he knows.

Bucky is hesitant in his gestures, but convincing in his intentions. He does want it as much as Steve, and the rest of the universe doesn't matter tonight. Stars can shine, planets can spin, they're alone and moving their own pace, in their own bubble of fresh warmth.

Steve has also learnt that Bucky doesn’t like human’ clothes, or maybe just clothes at all since he’s never worn his own again. He spends his days shirtless if not entirely naked. Tonight, he’s wearing Steve’s night pants because the window is open and autumn is here, cold and all, but no shirt to Steve’s delight.

Bucky’s well built, he’s made from strong muscles decorated of multiple golden lines. Steve’s looked closely at some of them and he’s pretty sure they’re actually made fromgold. Bucky _is_ made of gold. He’s the most beautiful work of art Steve has ever laid eyes on, better than a Van Gogh, better than a Monet, better than a Munch. He’s beautiful down to every small detail.

Bucky breaks the kiss and Steve’s eyes open to Bucky’s second eyelids wrapping over his eyes. Steve is still as fascinated by it. Bucky’s so human and animal at the same time. How could he be any less than fascinating?

“You know you scare me sometimes, right?” Steve playfully whispers, “that thing you do with your eyes, terrifying.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side, as he always does when Steve whispers.

“I don’t even know if you understand what I’m saying,” Steve adds, and then silence follows.

Bucky stares back intently like there’s a million things he wants to say, but it’s all trapped inside him, lost in a silence Steve cannot possibly understand. No gesture, no sound, nothing human about it. Bucky’s eyes hide a million words and more and Steve doesn’t have the means to decode any of it, besides maybe a sense of shared sadness that this barrier between them seems too high to climb. 

Bucky lifts his hand and puts his index on Steve’s lower lip.

Steve smiles faintly. “My mouth? What with my mouth?” he asks, amused despite the bittersweetness. “You like when it moves? The sounds I make when I speak?” he ponders out loud.

Moving closer, Bucky puts his index to his own lips.

“A kiss?” Steve asks softly, his gaze falling onto Bucky’s mouth. “You want another one?”

Steve moves his face closer, testing Bucky’s reaction, who meets him halfway.

The kiss is sweet and unhurried, just their lips. Steve takes the time to feel it; Bucky’s lips are smooth and cold, like the rest of him. Steve pulls away, enough to look at Bucky whose fingers rise up again and settle against Steve’s mouth, a light, exploring touch, before Bucky brings his fingers to his own mouth, touching it the same way. Making the same comparison as Steve just did in his head. 

Bucky stretches his neck just enough to press his lips against Steve’s again.

Steve decides to tease Bucky a little this time. He parts his lips just enough for the tip of his tongue to poke Bucky’s mouth and smiles as Bucky slightly pulls back and frowns in surprise. Steve kisses Bucky gently again, but Bucky stays unresponsive, eyes open and set on Steve. 

Steve can’t help but smile again as he pulls back. He parts his lips a little for Bucky to get a glimpse of his tongue he sticks out, solving what looks like a real mystery to Bucky.

Steve presses their lips together again and this time Bucky goes with it. Steve slowly opens his mouth again and Bucky mirrors him curiously, letting Steve slip the tip of his tongue inside his mouth for a brief touch. Steve laughs silently at Bucky’s perplexity at the new contact and tries it a second time. Bucky eventually imitates him and kisses Steve back.

Steve finds it amusing, to teach Bucky how to kiss someone this way. Though Bucky is far from unintelligent and there’s no doubt he understands it’s a gesture of genuine affection – or more than that.

From that moment on, Steve feels everything shift. He suspected it before, but now he knows. He’s sure he’s not meant to feel that way, not towards Bucky, not towards an alien, but he does – God, he does and even if he’s not meant to, it feels amazing and he’s not trading it for anything.

Steve’s not sure whom kisses who again, but their lips are pressed together and it makes the world spin all around him. 

Steve’s not sure who drags whom to the bedroom, but soon they’re lying on Steve’s bed and everything feels just right. They’re unclothed, and Steve’s never felt so close to anyone before.

Steve lies breathless above Bucky, but not motionless. He touches, explores, caresses and kisses, following the gold line on Bucky's hip, the one wrapping around his thigh. There's one on his chest that curls up like a snail that Steve draws with the shy tip of his tongue, too. Bucky shivers under him and Steve relishes it; sensitive skin is something he can play with. Something he can use to tease and please, but mostly please. He only wants Bucky to enjoy all of this, wherever this goes, wherever this stops.

Bucky seems calm, but distant. It occurs to Steve that perhaps none of this is familiar to Bucky, perhaps he doesn't feel the same way Steve does because maybe sex for him is not sex, either not like this or not at all – but when Steve stops kissing and touching, losing himself in his thoughts, Bucky frowns and presses his lips to Steve's.

He kisses away any doubt Steve holds. He wants Steve as Steve wants him and it relieves Steve of a weight he hadn't realize was pressing down on his chest.

Steve has gotten used to not hearing a noise from Bucky, but there's a lot more to understand about him, the way he melts at Steve’s touch, looks for the taste of Steve's mouth, the way he puts his hands on Steve.

Bucky's surprisingly calm and submissive, something Steve would have never bet his life on. Of all things, he would have thought Bucky would try to own the situation, control it like... like an animal would do. Steve winces at the thought; he's thinking of Bucky as an _animal_ , because he's foreign, because his habits and gestures aren't the same as his. Maybe he's the animal to Bucky. Maybe everything Steve does reminds Bucky of a creature from his world, of a less evolved being.

It's not right. It’s not right to think this way. They're both what they are, none of them inferior on any level. And if anyone’s inferior it Steve’s for having this thought.

Bucky kisses him again, slipping his tongue inside Steve's mouth and wrapping his hand around Steve's nape, bringing him back to the moment. Oh, this is tender and loving and yet Steve can feel Bucky's hand wrap tighter around his neck, refusing Steve the simple idea of pulling away. 

_I won't_ , Steve thinks. _I would never_.

It's only when Steve's lubed hand ventures down Bucky's body that the atmosphere changes. Bucky stiffens and in just a quick move pushes Steve against the mattress.

Steve stares at Bucky standing tall on his knees above him, wondering if he went too fast or if Bucky wasn't expecting it. He doesn't know anything about Bucky. Not in this particular context. Not this intimately.

Bucky bends over, pressing a kiss on Steve's stomach, then a second one lower, and a third which has Steve holding his breath knowing how close Bucky's lips are to his erection.

Steve wants to watch, but his eyes close of their own accord. The contact of Bucky's tongue on the tip of his cock sends a shock through his spine, like he's been electrocuted by pleasure. The second lap is much, much sweeter, absolutely delightful, but that's all Bucky gives him before he's back on his knees, straddling Steve.

Steve's eyes flutter open to a divine sight. Boy, is Bucky handsome, golden lines glowing, the pink dots shining bright on his forehead, hair caught in his eyelashes. Steve makes a memory of it to draw later, before he realizes Bucky's waiting for something.

Steve thinks, puts his artist’s brain to work.

He rises up onto his elbows first and then balances on his hands as he moves closer to reach Bucky's lips. Bucky doesn't react at first and then moves slightly back as if in conflict with himself. Wanting, but not wanting. In control, but compliant.

Bucky eventually lets Steve kiss him, lets Steve wrap an arm around his back to press him closer, that's when Steve feels it, his hole open and wet, just waiting for Steve's cock to slide in. As Steve carefully does, Bucky breaks the kiss hastily, almost violently.

Steve stops, watches. Bucky's frowning, scrutinizing Steve's face. The dots have faded into a sweeter shade of pink. They stay like this for a moment, for a few seconds or long minutes, Steve's not sure, he's lost track of time watching Bucky. There's something eerie and yet enchanting about his gaze.

Steve only stops staring when Bucky's hand moves up to his shoulder and pushes Steve down onto the mattress. Steve willingly obeys and stays lying down as Bucky's hand moves to Steve's face, urging him to close his eyes – and it becomes indescribable from then. Magical.

Steve can't help but smile softly and bite his lip and every time his hands unconsciously try to touch Bucky, they're pushed away. Bucky doesn't want to be touched, or watched. Maybe that's what he's used to – no sound, no gaze, no touch, nothing relatively distracting from the sole purpose of having sex. To… _mate_.

That's not love, not to Steve. That’s not what Steve considers as making love. It's almost... medical, but it doesn't take away how much pleasure Steve gets from the rolls of Bucky's hips. He wants to see though, and touch. He wants his hands on Bucky's hips and to see his face relax in pleasure – does he even get pleasure from this?

So Steve opens his eyes, and Bucky slows down. His reptile-like eyelids wrap around his eyes, that thing Steve loves more than he fears – it makes Bucky look innocently adorable.

When Steve's hands move to touch Bucky's body once again, Bucky doesn't push them away, but his breathing gets louder and deeper as if he’s fearful. Steve gently traces one of Bucky's golden lines, starting on his hip and running down to his thigh, and Bucky watches his fingers move. 

Steve tries to be as gentle, slow and predictable as he can as to not startle or scare Bucky. But although Bucky doesn't seem to shy away from the touch, he does stop moving and does not peek at Steve's face again.

Steve shifts them, getting Bucky to lie down, leaving kisses in his neck while Bucky does not touch him. Steve settles between Bucky's legs and while kissing him, slides back inside him. Bucky’s face falls to the side and fast enough his hands are looking for Steve’s back, moving up to his shoulders.

Every thrust sends Steve to heaven and when Bucky hides his face in Steve’s neck and starts to nibble at his jaw, Steve finds his weakness. He holds it back, dares to move his hand between their bodies to catch Bucky’s cock and give it a few strokes. Bucky quits nibbling to bite instead; a muffled groan escapes his nostrils, and a few seconds later a quiet, almost silent moan follows. 

Steve lets it go in turn, louder than his lover.

Steve keeps his eyes closed a little longer, he’s missed Bucky’s expression of release, but he’s heard it, as silent as it was; he’s felt it, as magical as it was. Steve covers his neck and face of kisses, ending it all on his lips before he finally takes a look at Bucky’s face. His hair is muffled and the two little dots are intensely pink, Steve wants to hold him close.

Bucky stares back. Steve strokes his cheek with his nose and Bucky smiles, a soft and beautiful smile that makes Steve melt.

There's that thing, that voice inside Steve’s head that says it’s wrong. 

But there’s a feeling deep inside Steve,carved in his bones, like ink on his heart. There's that feeling in Steve. Bucky leaves that feeling on him. Not just attraction, not interest, not curiosity; love, is what Steve wants to call it. He's falling in love.

He's fallen in love.

And there's no right or wrong, it just is. He doesn't need words, he doesn't need gestures, he doesn't need anything at all, but Bucky. Just Bucky. Without words, without gestures. Bucky as he is. Odd and foreign and yet familiar.

Bucky, just Bucky and God help the fool who tries to take him away from him.

 

 

* * *

  
  



End file.
